


Fool's Gold

by farad



Series: Supermagnificent AU [1]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: 3K Round-up Challenge, M/M, Supermagnificent AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 16:25:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6247165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farad/pseuds/farad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in Deannie's new Super Hero AU in the west, this is a moment (or few) in time, between the fighting, where Ezra confronts his own greed - in a couple of different ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fool's Gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mendax](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mendax/gifts).



> Thanks to Deannie for a.) this awesome universe, b.) a wonderful beta and help with the ideas, and c.) the title, though this may not have been quite what she meant. 
> 
> All mistakes my own. 
> 
> Happy belated birthday, Mendax!

Ezra knew where the gold was.

 

The children had been a great source of information, as children usually were – hadn't he learned that the hard way, having been taken advantage of himself when he was a child?

 

Though his mother would never have thought of it as such; she was the one who reminded him – still today – that ignorance and innocence were the same thing, and it was a favor to teach someone that, sometimes even a kindness.

 

He tried to remind himself of that as he remembered the look in Akando's eyes as the boy had told him of the mine, of the dangers of it – and of the gold that his people thought was still there. He liked the boy and some part of him was having a hard time remembering that this would be a good way for him to learn not to trust.

 

He tried not to think of it as he walked away from the celebrations and into the darkness, up the slope toward the area where he and the others were sleeping. The villagers were still very wary of them, despite the victory today – a victory that Ezra wasn't willing to believe in. Like Chris, he suspected the ghosts would be back – it was gold, after all. It would be a while, though, which would give him time to find it for himself.

 

Ezra preferred not to be too close to the villagers. It would make it easier when the time came – in the morning, actually, when he took his watch from Buck. He would make it into the mine, see what was there, take what he could find, and plan a time to come back for the rest. It would pay for this adventure, make it worth his while.

 

And their leader seemed to expect it. “ _Didn’t hear Standish being too much help.”_ The words still rang in his head, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth that made him look forward to his whiskey flask, which was with his bedroll.

 

But as he moved around the outcropping into the alcove of their camp, he caught sight of movement near the small central fire. He stepped back against the wall, his hand going to his gun from habit. But even as his fingers slid around the revolver's butt familiarly, he recognized Chris Larabee's gun belt, the silver conchs glinting in the white light of the moon and its reflection from the desert sand.

 

It was then that he realized that he was seeing Chris Larabee in the moonlight also. At least, part of him, bare.

 

His skin was pale in the clear blue light, and from where he was, Ezra couldn't determine what Larabee was doing. He was hardly aware of the transition to invisibility, just of the habitual look around to make certain that no one was watching, then the tickling sensation of the scales sliding into place over him.

 

As he eased around the corner once more, still hugging the shadows, he recalled the strange way that Larabee had of staring right at where he was, as if he knew Ezra was there. 'Smelled you', the man had said. Erza had almost taken offense – he was the cleanest of the lot of them, he knew. But then, that could have been the problem. He smelled of soap and aftershave. Though right now, he also knew he smelled of sweat, as they had had little chance to bathe in this desert environment.

 

But the man had to have an extraordinarily acute sense of smell to pick up on that from these distances.

 

The concern for it kept Ezra at a distance. Even invisible, he wasn't sure that Chris wouldn't know he was there. But he wanted to see what he could see. He knew better, knew that he should let this go. But it had been a very long time since he had felt a curiosity like this.

 

Curiosity. He almost snorted at his own mental sleight of hand. “Never lie to yourself, though, Ezra,” his mother had told him over and over. “You use their weaknesses, their lies to themselves, against them, but don't allow them to do the same to you.”

 

Attraction. He had been cursed with it even before he knew what it was. His mother was beautiful, everyone said so, even those who knew here for what she was. And she had taught him much about women and girls – their vulnerabilities, their charms, the things a man could use and the things a man should be on guard against.

 

Perhaps that was why he had never felt for them the way he had for his own kind. He liked women, and sometimes, he even enjoyed their charms – conversation, flirtations, even the periodic sexual interlude. He had had a few.

 

But the frisson that made his belly tighten, that made his skin feel as if the scales were sliding into place even when they weren't – he had only ever felt that about men.

 

Men like this one, men who knew how to take control of situations, who knew how to lead.

 

The invisibility offered another advantage, one that he hadn't consciously considered; when invisible, he saw the world differently – literally. Instead of the rich colors of the day, or the black and white of night, his view of the world was softer, browner, like the images that came from a daguerreotype. It made his vision sharper, particularly when he was looking at the contrasts in light.

 

Like now. 

 

Not only was he a leader of men, Chris Larabee was also an attractive man, Ezra had recognized that from the start. Blond hair, glittering green eyes, slender frame that would seem to suggest vulnerability, but a swagger and a smile that promised control and authority. The man knew what he was doing – even when it seemed that he didn't. 

 

His confidence was almost daunting. Certainly it gave Ezra pause. And something about it was reminiscent of the confidence his mother had as she went into – well, anything. Though Ezra had the sense that Chris Larabee had more reason to be confident that his mother usually did. 

 

But he didn't really want to think about his mother right now. Not when Larabee stood exposed to him, his upper body bare and stark to Ezra's strange vision. The gold hue seemed perfect for this man, so golden already. His body was pale, so that through the filter of Ezra's sight, he was a warm yellow, like slightly melted butter or the daffodils in the early spring. 

 

Passingly, Ezra thought that it was an interesting irony that gold, the object of his quest to this God-forsaken place, was the color that most seemed to suit this man. Perhaps Ezra merely had gold on his mind, but it was a curious coincidence.

 

'Merely'. He smiled at the very idea that gold was 'mere'. 

 

Before him, Larabee stilled and his head tilted upward, as if he were looking for something. Surely he hadn't heard Ezra smile. Was his hearing as sharp as his sense of smell? 

 

That seemed highly unlikely. Unless that man were some sort of demon. Or some sort of superhuman - 

 

No, that  wasn't possible. 

 

But then  again . . . 

 

As the thoughts tumbled about in Ezra's mind, he held himself so still he was barely breathing. This, too, was second nature, a behavior that was almost instinctive. Larabee turned slowly, still searching, but still looking up. Perhaps the alcove that they were in, the walls climbing up about twenty feet or so, distorted sound. 

 

And perhaps, the rational voice in Ezra's head said, sounding, as always, like his mother, Larabee heard something else. Something not related to Ezra and his spying at all. 

 

That voice, and the very worry, were distant though, overwhelmed by the sight of the man as he turned fully toward Ezra. 

 

Gold, indeed. It was pale gold now, as the man had moved a step or two during his turn, exposing himself more fully to the light of the moon. While he was slender at the waist, his chest was broad and well defined, as were his arms. He had strength, no question of that. There was a smattering of dark hairs running down his sternum, almost brown in the sepia filter of  Ezra's vision. As were his nipples – small things, the size of a button. From this distance, it was hard to tell if they were contracted or not, but Ezra thought they were. They were small and there were darker striations, faint but discernible to his gaze. 

 

Larabee's sho ulders were broad, tapering to a thin, flat waist, one that was shadowed by his chest. 

 

And his pants were open, the 'v' of the dark fabric offering hints of the flesh below. Ezra's hands itched with the desire to reach beneath the fabric covering, to see if the man was as strong and confident there as he was with his pants closed. 

 

He slowly looked back up the lean body, taking in what he hadn't before. There were other darker places, scars that spoke of a life of warfare. Some were so faint that he could barely see them, just lines that seemed to run down his torso – and then he realized that yes, they were lines. Lines of water, tracking through the layers of desert grime that were on the man's skin. 

 

Larabee had been washing up – something that Ezra had been hoping to do as well. Water trailed slowly down his body in small rivulets, making his skin seem to shimmer in places. It was easier, now that he knew of the water, to see the fixed areas of darker color, the actual scars. 

 

One, particularly, stood out, a larger area on his  left  side. A bullet hole from the look of it, and one that had occurred recently but was almost completely healed. The flesh still looked tender though, the color a warm copper, darker with the red undertones that Ezra had come to learn meant soft, new flesh. 

 

There were other scars as well, a long, slender line along the opposite side that spoke of a knife or perhaps bayonet tip, more holes from bullets, and a strange area of discoloration that rose above the line of the waistband of his pants, over one hip bone. Ezra wondered what could have caused such a strange looking scar – though it could be that he was misinterpreting it through the filter of his scales.  He also wondered how in the hell one man could survive so much. The idea of Larabee being superhuman ran through his mind again, taking stronger hold. 

 

He was not, though, misinterpreting the beauty of this man. Larabee continued his slow turn, still looking up at the night sky. Perhaps he had a romantic streak, Ezra mused, perhaps he was infatuated with the stars and moon, or the brightness of this night out in the desert. 

 

As he turned, Ezra saw more of the faint lines and scars. The long line that rose over the hip continued along his side, finally winding down and slipping back beneath his pants as his back came back to full view. Following the path of that scar brought Ezra's gaze to the curve of the man's ass – a tight curve over hard muscle. 

 

Again, his hands itched to get past the fabric of those pants, to trace the line of that strange scar, to mold his fingers over that taut butt and feel the heat of it. 

 

He knew why he had come on this ill-fated quest. Gold, yes, but the real reason, the reason he had actually let Larabee's words haunt him to this point, was because of this man. 

 

He found himself wondering how Larabee would respond to an offer of gratuitous pleasure. Perhaps he was like Wilmington, willing to take his pleasure wherever it was offered?  It wasn't as if they would see each other after this little escapade was over . . . 

 

As if to encourage that line of thinking, Larabee's head lowered from its contemplation of the heavens and the man bent down, his lovely backside more clearly displayed for Ezra's own contemplation. The fabric of the pants was stretched tight, so much so that Ezra thought he could see where the weave was rubbed thin from hours in the saddle. He focused his gaze, wondering if he could see through the very threads themselves, to the man's skin. What was the worst that could happen to him if he offered? 

 

Larabee could shoot him. That seemed obvious enough. 

 

But the possibility that he might not, that he might be willing to take the offer . . . .

 

Larabee stood up, shaking his head. He had dunked  it into the water bucket, and water flew from him as he shook, creating a nimbus of pale gold that was almost blinding. For a second, Ezra thought he was seeing a god, perhaps Apollo or the Egyptian Ra. 

 

He must have shifted, probably leaning forward, for the sandy ground under his feet gave way, and though he didn't fall, he did make noise as he caught his balance. 

 

When he looked again, Larabee was staring toward him, one eyebrow arched, one hand on his revolver which was partly drawn from his holster. 

 

Though not all the way, which was something.

 

Ezra was calculating which wa y to go to best dodge the bullet when Larabee's lips twitched, slowly rising at the corners into a slight grin. His hand on the revolver moved, and Ezra flinched, ready to twist to the right, into the wall of the cliff. The man knew he was here – smell, sound, sight – who knew how the hell, but he did know. 

 

But instead of pulling the gun out, he pushed it back snugly into its specially designed holster. His shoulders rose then fell as he relaxed, and he shook his head again, still casting off water, but more slowly this time. The nimbus was a more a thin cloud, dissipating the closer it came to the desert floor. 

 

Larabee stretched, his arms extending over his head, the muscles flexing, sharp and bright. His chest stretched and his stomach hollowed as he arched back, and the 'v' of his pants, still open, grew wider as well. There was a glint of color there, too, and Ezra drew a deep breath, knowing that he was seeing hints of hair, as fine and bright as that on the man's head. 

 

If Ezra hadn't known better, he might have thought the man was preening. But he did know better. 

 

Didn't he? If Larabee knew he was here . . . 

 

An invitation? Could it be? Was Larabee actually offering . . . 

 

There was a sound above, the flap of wings but from a very large bird. Larabee's  arms dropped quickly and he stared up. From where he was, close to the wall and with the overhang of the cliff above, Ezra couldn't see anything but a fast-moving shadow on the desert floor. It looked as if an eagle or a large hawk were flying high enough to cast a large shadow, though the sound suggested that it was much closer. 

 

The shadow disappeared and the sound seemed louder for a second or two before it, too, ebbed away, as if the bird had landed somewhere nearby. Ezra looked back to Larabee, but the man was now pulling on his shirt and grabbing up his hat, suddenly in a hurry. Was that what he had been looking for? A bird? 

 

It was over in less time than it took for Ezra to straighten up and take a cautious step forward. Larabee was buttoning his pants as he ran, his hat firmly on his head, his shirt flapping about him. He took the winding trail that led up from the flattest part of the alcove, where their bedrolls were, and though the thin route was steep, he moved with surprising speed. 

 

Ezra watched him, moving farther away from the wall so that he could see him better. For a time, he thought about following – was this, too, part of the invitation? 

 

But his instincts told him otherwise. Whatever Larabee was running to, he was not longer thinking about Ezra – if, indeed, he had been at all. 

 

It was better this way, he reasoned as he sloughed away the scales, letting himself return to view. He w ould find the mine in the morning and make his plan for getting as much from it as he could . He did not need to be distracted from his goal by this man – hell, he'd been here too long already,  standing against a rock . His shoulder still hurt, and he  needed his rest. Tomorrow was going to be a busy day. 

 

He found the bucket of water Larabee had been using, and after some debate, he used the little that was left to wash his face and hands. He went to sleep on his bedroll, waking just enough to be aware of the return of Larabee and Tanner some time later, their voices low as they made ready for sleep. One of them stoked the fire a little, enough to keep it going and to keep the coffee pot warm. 

 

Ezra rolled onto his side, opening his eyes just enough to catch sight of Larabee settling down nearby. The other man was looking at him, his eyes glittering in the waning light of the moon. It was just bright enough now to see the flicker of the familiar grin on his face before he rolled onto his back and drew his hat over his eyes. 

 

 


End file.
